


The Shadow on the Sword

by blackberrychai



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (mostly), Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Gothic, My Unit | Byleth is Not A Professor, No Crests, victorian gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrychai/pseuds/blackberrychai
Summary: In a world where Rhea’s experiments have taken centuries longer to create a vessel for Sothis, crests are now extinct and magic only a legend. Felix, Lord Fraldarius, arrives at the Garreg Mach Officers’ Academy in the year 1864, and in the haunting surroundings of the old monastery finds himself strangely fascinated by the knight who has become his new sparring partner. But there is more going on in the shadows of Garreg Mach than he ever expected, and the secrets around Byleth only begin with a strange sword which glows in her hands.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the Three Houses AU Bang! I hope you enjoy this Victorian Gothic version of the world and the Three Houses plot.  
> Wonderful art for this fic has been made by [kayisdreaming](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming) that goes with chapter two of this (which, if you're reading this at time of posting, will be up at the weekend), and I can't thank her enough for it! Many thanks as well to [Elasmosaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elasmosaurus) for betaing this for me.

“Oh, His Highness has come to greet us!” Ingrid said excitedly as Sylvain helped her out of the train carriage. She gestured to the figure standing further along the platform, half-submerged in the clouds of steam coming from the engine, and Felix let out a sigh deep enough to earn him a glare from Ingrid. Dimitri’s head jerked round at the sound of their voices, and he hurried over to them.

“You did not need to go out of your way to come to meet us!” Ingrid exclaimed as he approached.

Dimitri lifted his hat and took Ingrid’s extended hand. “Lady Ingrid,” he said warmly, “I found I could not deny myself the pleasure of your company any longer.”

“What, no kind words for the rest of us!” Sylvain interjected. “I am deeply hurt, your Highness.”

Disgusted, Felix turned away as he heard Dimitri reply. “Ah, but you cannot deny that your charms are rather outshone, at least on this occasion.”

“I would deny that my charms are ever outshone!” Sylvain protested.

Felix scoffed loudly. “Sylvain, I believe your charms are always outshone. Now stop wasting time, we are due at the Academy.”

Unfortunately, it was Dimitri who replied. “Of course, it would not do to be late. The porters will know where to take your luggage, so we can proceed directly.” He offered his arm to Ingrid, who took it graciously, and turned to leave the station.

Resigned to trailing behind them on the walk through the small town of Garreg Mach, Felix adjusted his uncomfortable hat with a scowl, and shot a glare at Sylvain’s jovial expression. He only received a shrug in response though, and Sylvain moved ahead to walk beside Dimitri and Ingrid.

“What are your impressions of the Academy so far?” he asked Dimitri, who had already been at Garreg Mach for a week.

He gave a non-committal sound in response. “It is a most impressive place, to be sure. I believe it will be a pleasure to spend time there. But I confess I find myself anxious at the prospect of our external missions.”

Felix scoffed again, striding ahead to walk abreast with the others. “Have you added cowardice to your other faults now, then? That was not one I anticipated, I will admit.”

“Felix!” Ingrid exclaimed.

“No, no,” Dimitri soothed. “Do not fear, Felix. We merely encountered some unexpected problems on our mission a few days ago, and I hope such difficulties will not be commonplace.”

“What happened?” Sylvain asked curiously.

Dimitri sighed. “We were set upon by bandits, and abandoned by the professor escorting us. It was rather unfortunate.”

“Bandits?” asked Ingrid. “How many of them?”

“I am not altogether sure,” Dimitri confessed. “A fair number, at any rate.”

Sylvain frowned at him. “You don’t seem all that distressed, so I assume none of you met with any harm?”

“It was a near thing,” he replied, with a shake of his head. “Edelgard – Her Royal Highness, I mean – was close to being grievously injured, but most luckily it was averted.”

Dimitri didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, sinking thoughtfully into silence. “Well?” Felix said harshly. “Aren’t you going to explain what happened?”

This didn’t even elicit a quelling look from Ingrid—she seemed too focused on Dimitri’s half-told story. He sighed again, but continued. “Lord Riegan, Her Highness, and I were lucky enough to come across a group of mercenaries, who aided us in fighting off the bandits before the Knights of Seiros could arrive. It was one of them who saved Edelgard’s life.”

“Mercenaries,” Felix repeated to himself.

A stray thought seemed to cheer Dimitri. “Oh, but it was rather a coincidence. Have you, perhaps, heard of Jeralt the Blade-breaker?”

“Of course,” Ingrid said immediately.

“It was his group of mercenaries who we met, and as a former Captain of the Knights he accompanied us back to Garreg Mach.”

“Oh!” Ingrid exclaimed. “Is he joining them once again? I never heard why he left, I must confess.”

“I believe so,” Dimitri said. “And what is more, his daughter has been made one of the Knights of Seiros.”

Even Sylvain looked surprised at that. “Really? That’s a little surprising. Though I suppose it helps that her father was previously their captain.”

Dimitri nodded. “Yes, but she is quite renowned in her own right as a mercenary, I hear. She is known as the Ashen Demon.”

“What a ridiculous name,” Felix muttered. “Tch. In any case, perhaps a mercenary will be less caught up in the chivalric nonsense most of you are so fond of.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Come on, Felix, enough of that. Can you not simply try to enjoy the fact that we are all in the same place again? Will we ever coax you away from your sword this year?”

“Will we ever coax you away from your women?” Felix retorted.

“I’m sure we would all be most grateful to spend some more time with you, Felix,” Dimitri added. “It has been years since we were all together.”

He only received a glare from Felix for that. “I am not inclined to spend my time with a beast pretending to be a man,” he spat, and stalked ahead of the others. “I will find my own way to the monastery.”

Ingrid made an indignant noise, but was hushed by Dimitri. Felix heard their voices behind him, but ignored their words until he heard footsteps coming closer again. He shot a glare over his shoulder, but it was only Sylvain.

“What do you want?” he bit out.

“Just to accompany a friend who is walking in the same direction,” Sylvain replied blithely.

Felix refused to reply to that, so they walked in silence towards the towering walls of the monastery. The town was small – only a small collection of houses and shops – but the marketplace was bustling. A prosperous set of officials, nobles, and knights coming and going from the monastery had turned what would otherwise just have been a meeting point for merchants from nearby villages into a surprisingly affluent place, despite its small population.

“Don’t slow us down by flirting with every girl we pass,” Felix growled to Sylvain as they walked into the market.

He got an insincere grin in response. “I would never dream of it.”

“ _Sylvain_ ,” Felix barked.

“As you wish, my friend,” Sylvain said. “But on one condition.”

Felix glared at him. “What would that be?”

“Simply that you cease calling our future king a boar,” Sylvain replied lightly.

“No,” came the flat response.

“Felix, it’s been five years!” Sylvain cried. “Whatever happened in that battle, you were just boys. He will be of age soon. Surely you can see that Dimitri is far more composed now than he was in those years after the Tragedy.”

“I can see,” Felix said through gritted teeth, “That a fifteen-year-old _boar_ grows only into a twenty-year-old one. He is no man, Sylvain. It will only be to your detriment if you cannot see that.”

“But—” Sylvain began.

“I have changed my mind,” Felix interrupted. “Go and flirt if you wish. I will continue alone.”

With that, he pushed his way towards the monastery gates, leaving Sylvain to be swallowed by the bustling crowd.

Garreg Mach was somehow not quite what Felix was expecting. The stone walls were similar to every church he spent his childhood avoiding, but massed here in such a great collection, the effect was rather different. Towering over it all, isolated across a bridge, was the cathedral, with high towers and intricate crenellations, casting the rest of the monastery into shadow. The result was rather more imposing than he had been anticipating, despite the pleasantness of the gardens between the smaller buildings.

He was met on arrival by one of the stewards, who showed him to his lodgings, in a large block running down the side of the area occupied by the monastery. The rooms were utilitarian ,but adequate enough, and Felix doubted he would be spending much time there. He was only at Garreg Mach under duress, in any case.

“Felix,” his father had said gravely. “I have been lenient with you these past years, but completing your education is a necessity, not to mention an important tradition.”

Felix had just scoffed at him. “You, lenient? I think not.”

His father’s face had hardened. “Like it or not, you are my heir. I have not pressed you to assume your duties, but you will be of age soon. You have responsibilities, my son. To our lands, to our _king_.”

That had made Felix turn away in disgust. “We have no king,” he retorted.

“But we will again soon. And it remains the duty of our family to stand by the king’s side. You will therefore be accompanying His Highness to Garreg Mach this year.”

He whirled around, an angry reply springing to his lips, but Rodrigue raised a hand. “ _No_ , Felix. This is not a request. You will do this.”

And so here he was, surrounded by chattering nobles and aspiring politicians. It made him sick. Despite the Academy’s ostensible purpose as a place of military training, it was just as much one for the heirs of important families to make connections, and practise their politicking where the stakes are somewhat lower. Half of them do not even have any real military skill, Felix has heard, and vaguely claimed to study tactics or military engineering to justify their time here.

His room, unfortunately, appeared to be right next Dimitri’s, or so he discovered after a knock on his door.

“Felix,” Dimitri said, “I believe the servants are bringing the luggage up from the station. May I be of any assistance in settling you in?”

Behind him, various people seemed to be stacking cases outside people’s doors. Sylvain, at the end of the corridor, was wrapped up in flirting with one of the maids, and seemed oblivious to Felix’s presence.

He sneered at Dimitri. “I am quite capable of managing my own belongings,” he said, then turned to a manservant carrying one of his trunks. “Leave my luggage in my room. I will unpack it myself.”

The man bowed, and left the trunk with a muttered, “Of course, my lord.”

Felix turned back to Dimitri. “Go bother someone else. I am leaving,” he said, then strode off down the corridor. Ignoring the calls after him, he made his way downstairs. Intending to explore and learn his way around the place, he instead found the pathways and courtyards crowded with people. The arrival of so many students seemed to cause a great deal of bustle, with servants hurrying everywhere, and people pausing to greet new and old acquaintances.

A scowl fixed on his face to dissuade people from approaching him, he decided to begin his search for the monastery’s training grounds. Others may not be here to fight, but he certainly was. He found them fairly easily, pleased by their closeness to the dormitories. The space was impressive, he supposed—a large, open area for sparring, and various targets and practice dummies scattered around the sides.

It was empty for now, and Felix sighed at the pleasant solitude. Glancing around, he saw a rack of training weapons by one wall—swords, spears, a few axes and bows, traditional and relatively unchanged over the centuries. After a moment of contemplation, he shrugged off his coat, and cast it carelessly over one of the archery targets, placed his hat beside it, then picked up a wooden sword.

He tested its weight in his hand—not superbly balanced, but of good enough quality, he supposed—and made his way over to a straw dummy. He fell easily into the patterns of his usual routine, slashing and jabbing at his target, his footwork nimble and precise. The motions were easy to lose himself in, as he took the time to work the stiffness of the long journey out of his muscles, working gradually through increasingly complex exercises. Eventually, he paused, panting from the exertion, and pushed the hair that had come loose out of his face. But when he turned, he was startled to find someone else had entered without his noticing. A woman dressed in loose, practical trousers and boots stood leaning against one of the pillars near the entrance, watching him with assessing eyes.

He had no idea how long she had been standing there. Despite his sense of unease, he gave her a slight bow, and went to gather up his coat and hat. He returned the sword to the rack, and more felt than heard the woman approaching him again. Her steps were almost silent, just a faint light footfall on the stone paving and a slight rustle of fabric. He tensed as she came to a stop a short distance away from him, and he pretended to focus his attention on the training weapons.

She didn’t move or speak for a long moment, then said. “Your form is good. Are you one of the students?”

Felix resisted the urge to glare at her, and kept his expression blank. “I am. Lord Felix Fraldarius.” He gave her a brief bow.

She just blinked at him. “Byleth Eisner.”

Felix gave her a nod, then began to walk towards the exit. “Good day, Miss Eisner,” he said.

“Will you spar with me, before you go?” she called after him.

He turned back, cast a scornful glance at her. “I would not wish to injure you, Miss Eisner.”

She laughed, a clear, short sound in the still air. “I do not think you will manage that.”

He drew himself up in indignation. “Would I not, indeed?” he said. “Well then, if you insist. What is your preferred weapon?”

“The sword,” she said, pulling two from the weapons rack and abruptly throwing one to him.

Managing to catch it out of the air, Felix fell quickly into a ready stance as she began to move lazily towards him with her sword in front of her. He scoffed mentally at her relaxed gait, and as soon as she made her way onto the main floor of the training ring, he lunged towards her, feinting low then twisting to flick his sword up and above her guard. But with a quick twist of her wrist, she deflected his strike easily, quickly riposting with a flurry of blows of her own.

Just managing to hold her off, his eyebrows lifted. She was considerably more competent than he had expected. This might be a match actually worth his time. He felt a small smile creep onto his face as they danced back and forth, exchanging blows, but neither of them gaining the upper hand. As they fought on, Felix found himself beginning to tire—she was relentless, but as yet showed no signs of fatigue. Worse still, he began to suspect that she was toying with him. Her expression had not shifted even slightly, and her movements were still almost casual despite their swiftness.

He scowled at her, and redoubled his efforts, pushing forwards. She deftly parried, then caught at his crossguard and wrenched the sword out of his hand, and brought one foot up to kick into his hip. He stumbled, unbalanced, and with a quick sweep at his legs, was sent sprawling onto the ground.

Byleth stood above him, holding her sword loosely and tapping her fingers on it contemplatively. “Not bad, I suppose. You got sloppy at the end, though.”

Felix picked himself up, and brushed the dust off. “I know,” he said, his annoyance seeping into his voice. “Are you another student? I must say, you’re rather better than I expected of my peers.”

“Oh, did I not introduce myself properly?” She raised one eyebrow. “I am one of the knights.”

Suddenly feeling like a fool, Felix stumbled to a stop. He must look like an idiot to her, in dishevelled travelling clothes, telling a seasoned expert he did not want to injure her. But no, that could not be right—she was far too young. Hardly a veteran knight.

Then it clicked. “The Blade-Breaker’s daughter?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, if you insist on calling him that.”

He looked her up and down suspiciously. “I have heard very strange rumours about how you managed to obtain a position here,” he said.

Byleth stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I’m sure,” she said dryly, then walked away back towards the weapons rack. Felix followed her, picking up his discarded sword and slotting it back into its place. He had just meant her encounter with the royal heirs and the bandits, but she seemed to have taken offence somehow.

She gave him a last assessing look, then a short half-bow. “I’m sure I will see you around, Lord Felix.” She turned away, and left the training grounds.

The sound of the closing door echoed in the quiet. She seemed competent, at the very least, but such competence would not usually be enough to win such a coveted position. There were plenty of knights in smaller noble houses, or decorated officers, and they would all jump at it—yet it had been given to her. His oblique questioning had turned her standoffish, as well.

Felix did not like mysteries.

When classes began the next day, Felix found he was exactly as bored as he had expected by it all. The hours dedicated to swordplay were the only bright spots for him—he resented those wasted on useless tactics seminars and lectures on military history. He refused to even attend most of the other classes offered. Once, Garreg Mach had only been devoted to martial training, but centuries of slow civilisation had warped it, even if actual military methods had remained remarkably unchanged. Felix had reluctantly attended one class on field medicine, but was so bored by it that he refused to go to any more. And while even Sylvain wastempted into attending Professor Hannemann’s strange engineering seminars, Felix had absolutely no interest in learning to build bridges, or whatever it was that they were meant to cover.

One of the other Faerghan students, an enthusiastic girl named Annette Dominic, gushed to him one evening at dinner about how useful military engineering corps are, and Felix only tolerated listening out of the small amount of impatient politeness he could muster. For the most part, all the others frustrated him. He sparred occasionally with Sylvain and Ingrid, and was introduced to a few others who also seemed to spend their time in the training grounds, but he had little use for any others beyond their potential as training partners. Every time his so-called friends dragged him to another sociable lunch, or forced him to sit and pretend to enjoy a pleasant tea in the gardens, he had to go and spend several hours hitting at a dummy in the training yard just to relieve his irritation.

By the end of the first month, Felix had found his life had fallen into a dull pattern, and the only thing of interest that punctuated it was sparring with Byleth. Unfortunately, it took more effort than he was hoping to persuade her into matches. His initial impression of her as competent turned out to be a gross underestimation. She was not merely competent—she was _incredible_. The first time Felix watched her train on her own, moving fluidly through a sword drill, he couldn’t help but admire the beauty of her motions, how every step, every flick of her wrist was precise. There was no extraneous effort, only smooth lines and impeccable skill.

He strode over to her. “Miss Eisner?” he began, uncharacteristically tentative.

She turned her head, not dropping her stance or stopping her movements.

“Lord Felix,” she replied, impassive.

“I was admiring your drill,” he said. “I haven’t seen it before, which is a little unusual. Might I ask where you learned it?”

She kept going, but hummed slightly. “Mmm, I think this was one I learned in Brigid.”

Felix struggled not to let his jaw drop. “In Brigid?” he asked.

“Yes. We—our mercenary troop, that is—travelled there. This was a while ago, of course. Before the war with the Empire.”

“You must have been quite young,” Felix said.

Byleth did not even pause. “Yes,” was all the response she gave.

“Would you be willing to teach it to me?” he asked.

Finally, that made her pause. She straightened up, letting her training sword drop. “I’m afraid it would not be of much use to you. Techniques vary a great deal between Faerghus and Brigid.”

Felix frowned. “But not so much that I could not benefit from learning from them.”

Looking around at the sparsely populated training grounds, Byleth continued as if he hadn’t said a thing. “And in any case, I am hardly an expert. You would do better with a teacher more knowledgeable in the specifics of the style,” she said, then began to make her way across the grounds. “Your Highness!” she called, and a girl with long hair tied in a thick plait turned round.

Byleth bowed, surprisingly deeply for someone who did not seem overly concerned with matters of etiquette. “Your Highness, might I present Lord Felix Fraldarius. He has expressed an interest in learning about the sword techniques of Brigid.”

The girl’s face lit up. “Oh! I would be having great honour to share them!” she said.

“Lord Felix,” Byleth continued, turning back to him, “This is her Highness Princess Petra of Brigid.”

He bowed, and Petra returned it enthusiastically. “Please, there is being no need for formality. We are all of a level here. You may just call me Petra.”

Felix reluctantly let himself smile a little, and was about to reply when he noticed Byleth turning away from them. “Miss Eisner,” he said, “Will you not join us?”

She shook her head, and gave a forced-looking smile, then hurried back to her patch of ground where she had been running her drills. Felix stared after her, as baffled by this as he had been by their last encounter.

“She is being… quite strange,” Petra said beside him.

Felix nodded, and did his best to focus on what she was telling him. But he found his eyes kept drifting back over to Byleth, alone in her corner of the courtyard, relentlessly drilling her footwork.

Petra proved to be the best training partner he’d found yet. While they spoke little outside their fights, Felix was invigorated every time they compared techniques, and she was fast and lithe enough to provide a challenge, though they were fairly evenly matched. Still, he found himself beginning to obsess a little over how hopelessly outclassed he had been in his one match with Byleth. He wanted to fight her again.

His next attempt to approach her went a little better. Instead of beating around the subject, he marched up to her with two practice swords, and demanded she spar with him. She raised an eyebrow, but agreed, and proceeded to beat him into the ground just as easily as the last time. Then, when he glared at her, she did it again.

It got a little easier after that—when he came across her on the grounds, or in the dining hall, he would invite her to spar, and some of the time she would then appear in the training grounds, ready to beat him to a pulp. He was not sure why he found the prospect of it so fascinating every time.

The one part of academy life that he had expected to be less frustrated by, the monthly missions, turned out to be rather less interesting than he’d anticipated, at least at first. Though the strict grouping of students into houses based on their origins had fallen out of favour some time ago, they nonetheless were forced into a mock battle in these groups at the end of the first month. Their battle was a sad thing, half the students warily standing back to do their best to stay out of the way of any fighting. Felix wielded his pathetic little wooden sword as angrily as he could, and mostly did his best to avoid being positioned anywhere near Dimitri.

When they lost to the students from the Leicester Alliance, who had snuck around and managed to ambush them unexpectedly, Ingrid yelled at him for a good ten minutes. Apparently without his refusal to follow Dimitri’s orders, they would easily have won. Felix doubted that, of course, but let her shout anyway. He couldn’t muster the energy to care.

But if the academy was even more disappointing than he’d anticipated, he found himself far more fascinated by Byleth than he’d ever expected.

“I don’t _understand_ ,” he complained to Sylvain when they stood in the training ground one afternoon. Byleth was on the other side of the courtyard, sparring with Dimitri.

“Understand what?” he asked, spinning his lance absent-mindedly.

“Why nobody had heard of her before now. Just watch her fight! She is… exceptional. And she was just, what, languishing in obscurity as a mercenary?” Felix said, frustrated beyond belief. Mercenaries were necessary, of course, but it was hardly a profession to be respected. They were poorly paid, and it was a job with little honour attached to it. Far better to be a soldier or a knight, in most people’s opinion, at least, if you were set on fighting for your living.

Sylvain shrugged. “She’s young, you know. Younger than me, I would guess. Perhaps she was just waiting for an opportunity like this.”

“But even so!” Felix cried. “How on earth did she manage to _get_ such an opportunity as this? Positions here are hardly handed out on a whim.”

Rolling his eyes, Sylvain just sighed at him. “You spend far more time with her than most of us, you know, with your sparring,” he said. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?” he grumbled, but let the matter drop. He would, he decided, do his best to confront Byleth on the matter again.

But to his frustration, she seemed to be occupied with others for the entirety of the rest of the afternoon. When the hour for supper drew near, and people began to return their weapons and make their way out of the training grounds, Felix went over to her.

“I was disappointed not to have a chance to fight you today,” he began.

She barely glanced up, continuing to reorganise the rack of training swords. “My apologies, my lord,” she said. “Many people seemed to want my advice today.”

He huffed. “I saw. Will you not spar with me?”

She sighed, and looked around the now nearly-empty courtyard. “It’s late. Would you rather not go and eat?”

Felix scowled at her. “Supper can wait. I have not had a match worth my time all afternoon. Come, I beg you.”

She lingered over arranging the weapons, and did not answer.

“Why are you doing that, in any case?” he snapped out. “It is not your duty.”

Finally, something he said seemed to catch her attention, and she looked up at him in surprise. “I would not think you cared,” she replied. “I find it rather soothing, I suppose.”

“And I would find testing my blade against yours soothing,” he retorted.

“All right,” she said abruptly, straightening her back. “If you truly want to test yourself. Return here after supper. And we will fight with real steel. Enough of these wooden jokes.”

In a moment, she was gone, and Felix stared after her, his scowl slowly lifting. He hurried to the dining hall, and ate quickly, ignoring his friends’ entreaties for company. Then he rushed back to the training grounds, and with a proper sword began to work through his warm-up drills once again.

Byleth was just as silent tonight as the first time they’d met, he discovered. With the light fading she was even harder to spot in her position leaned against a pillar than she had been that first day.

“How long have you been there?” Felix asked when he finally noticed her, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and letting down his hair so he could re-tie it more securely.

She sauntered over to him. “A little while. Good evening, my lord.”

Felix frowned. “You really do not have to call me that,” he said.

The only response he got was a shrug. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Just a moment.” Returning his sword to its sheath, Felix held the tie in his teeth, and began to wind his hair back into a bun. When he finished, he noticed Byleth was staring at him. He glared. “What?” he said, rather rudely.

She just shook her head. “Are you ready?”

He nodded back, drew his sword again, and she leapt towards him with a wordless cry. Felix realised quickly just how much she had been holding back before. Every one of her strokes was perfectly calculated, and though she always just touched the edge of her blade to his side, it was clear that in a true fight he would have been dead several times over after just a few minutes.

Felix kept going, though, and found himself oddly spurred on by his failure. Every time her sword slipped past his guard, he grinned a little, and pushed back. Soon Byleth was smiling faintly too, though it came across as more than a little terrifying when she was in all other respects a whirling instrument of steel and death at that precise moment.

When he finally called a halt, Felix still hadn’t landed a single hit on her. As he panted, exhausted but elated at the way his blood practically hummed in his veins, he smiled at Byleth. Cautiously, she returned it.

“I was wondering,” he began, “How it is that someone as skilled as you was a humble mercenary for so long?”

Her smile began to dissipate. “I would not call it humble, necessarily,” she said. “It is a profession with a purpose, and a specialised skill-set which I happen to be rather good at. And believe me,” her grin sharpened again. “When you are one of the best mercenary companies in Fódlan, people pay handsomely for your services.”

“Then if you enjoy it so, why did you become a knight?” he asked, puzzled. Knighthood was the dream of many—you only had to exchange a few words with Ingrid to realise that—but Byleth seemed surprisingly enthusiastic about the alternatives.

She sighed. “Well, that is more down to my father and the archbishop than anything else.” Then she shook her head. “But never mind. If you have your breath back, shall we have another match?”

Felix’s frustration with Garreg Mach was reinforced strongly by just how little the combat classes seemed to be teaching him. With the disappearance of one of the professors in Dimitri’s bandit incident, the combat master, Jeritza von Hrym, had replaced him, and the academy was now rather short-staffed. The students frequently ended up sparring together as part of their training, with little guidance given, and Felix chafed at the boredom. He would spar with Jeritza from time to time, but he seemed to have little interest in the minutiae of each student’s progress. Besides, he was always distant and distracted, and something about him set Felix’s nerves on edge.

In the end, he found the best practise he could get was when he persuaded some of the Knights of Seiros to spar with him. They were busy, of course, but if he caught them at the right time then they would often agree. And none, he discovered, were better or more infuriating practise than Byleth. He sought her out wherever possible, and he was forced to admit it was not solely for the challenge she provided. There was still something odd about her appointment to the knights, and Felix could not understand it. Instead, he fought her, and the little kernel of curiosity grew and grew, until he itched with irritation at his lack of understanding.

He was further annoyed by the fact that at the end of the second month, he still was not assigned to a proper combat mission. Seemingly at random, a sample of the students had been picked out to deal with a group of bandits. Felix, unfortunately, was not one of these. It was a relief to him that they would not be in their assigned house groups every month, as Dimitri and Ingrid had both been sent to fight the bandits, but it still aggravated him that he was not there. Instead, he went with Professor Manuela and Claude von Riegan to distribute aid to a village that had been affected by illness. It was the kind of necessary work he hated the most—all bringing baskets to sick townspeople, and sitting listening to their problems.

When his father eventually died, this would be his responsibility at home as well, he knew. As reluctant as he was to attribute any good sense to his father, this was one area where he surprisingly excelled. He was not a cruel landlord to his many tenants, and was always attentive to their concerns. But the patience that it required had never been something that came at all easily to Felix, and he dreaded the day it became his responsibility.

Maybe he could hand it off to someone else, he mused. Before his mother’s death, after all, it had been her duty, and his few memories of her from when he was very young and accompanied her on these visits had her laughing agreeably with the groundskeeper’s wife, drinking tea with the priest, endlessly amiable. It sent a pang of loss running through him, and he angrily fought it back down. He was not cut out for this, and the attempts just made the fury rise up again in his chest. He shook his head to dissipate the thoughts, and gritted his teeth through the rest of the experience.

On their return to Garreg Mach, Ingrid was pale-faced, but stoic and immovable when Felix tried to ask her what was wrong. This would have been her first actual experience of combat, he realised suddenly. He hoped, desperately, that she had not been forced to see in Dimitri what he had in his first battle. When he brought Dimitri’s savagery up to her, though, she just glared at him as she usually did. The frustration that she had not seen the boar as he truly was came tempered with bitter relief, though. She was spared it, yes, but she still did not believe him.

Felix sparred more with Byleth as the month went on. He began to frequent the Knights’ Hall more often, hoping to catch her running her drills. Many of the knights used the academy training grounds, since they were more spacious than the small area set aside here, but Byleth was not there all that much. She seemed to have begun to expect Felix to turn up at the Knights’ Hall late in the evenings, and sometimes when he arrived she would put down a book, or get up from her seat near the fire, and saunter over to join him.

He quickly found he learned far more from her in these occasional sessions than he ever did from his actual classes. She did not stop to teach him, exactly, but she would give a small irritated frown whenever he made a mistake. And galling as it was, it was becoming clear to him that it was true that there was no better teacher than failure. Every time, she beat him ruthlessly into the ground, and he got used to landing flat on his back. He learned to fall, as well, and quickly too—though it was something he’d thought he’d learned long ago. Sparring with Glenn, as well, had been an exercise in falling. But he pushed the thought of that out of his mind.

No matter how many times they sparred, though, he still could not seem to find out any more about Byleth. She was an enigma, so blank-faced, and she gave nothing away as she brushed aside his questions about her.

“How is it that you were made a Knight of Seiros so quickly?” he would muse to her as he brushed the dust off his jacket.

She would just shrug. “You would have to ask the archbishop that,” she said.

It was frustrating beyond belief, and moreover whenever he attempted to share that frustration with others, they simply mocked it. He gave his muttered rant about how little sense it made for an unknown woman to be given such a prestigious position to Sylvain and Ingrid one day over dinner, and they simply rolled their eyes at him.

Unfortunately, Dimitri was also there, and more than mocking, he seemed to be almost offended at Felix’s doubt. “This is an absurd line of questioning,” he said harshly. “You have not seen her fight, Felix. If you had, I am sure you would not doubt her at all.”

Felix scowled back at him. “I have sparred with her enough, _boar_ ,” he bit out, “To know how capable she is. That is not what I am questioning.”

Ingrid broke in with a frown, attempting to defuse things as usual, but only increasing Felix’s aggravation. “There is a vast difference between sparring and battle, you know that. She was also on the mission to deal with the bandits, you know.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I have never seen anything like that,” she said quietly. “It was… almost terrifying to watch.”

Taking in a sharp breath, Felix was about to reproach her, yet again, that that was not his _point_ , when Sylvain put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Now, now, this is a pointless argument,” he said. “I admit I don’t understand why you’re quite so curious about this, Felix, but Ingrid, you must admit it is unusual for a Knight of Seiros not to have a significant history to prove their capabilities.”

“There are other former mercenaries among the knights,” Ingrid objected. “The woman from Dagda, for one.”

“But she is older by far,” Felix said. “She had years of experience and a personal history with the archbishop, or so everyone says.”

“And Miss Eisner is the daughter of a former captain of the knights,” Dimitri said. “I would call that a personal history, would you not?”

Felix would never be willing to concede that the boar was right on anything, even if his words made a certain amount of sense. So he stood up from the table, his chair making an ugly sound as it screeched against the floor.

“You are all fools,” he spat, and strode away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lonato rebels, things start getting creepy, and the church is being... suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful art in this chapter is by the amazing [kayisdreaming](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming). She created such a great piece for this work so please go give her some love [here](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming/status/1353026218673639430?s=20)!  
> Thank you once again to [Elasmosaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus) for betaing this for me!

In his third month at the academy, Felix was pleased to hear that the mission he was assigned to was one that at least had the possibility of seeing action. Lord Lonato of Gaspard and the Western Church had raised a rebellion, and a group of students were to accompany the force of the Knights of Seiros who were sent to deal with them.

He mentioned to Byleth as they fought one evening that he was glad to be sent on a real mission for once. She just looked at him seriously.

“You should not be so eager for this,” she said.

He frowned back at her. “I am not. I have simply had enough of sitting in this damned monastery, pretending to prepare to fight, and never doing anything.”

She turned away, and sighed. “One of the other students is related to this lord, is that not right?” she asked. “I heard a rumour that he was being sent out on this mission as well.”

“Mr Ubert?” Felix asked in surprise. “I confess I am surprised. I do not know him well, but why would the church pick the man’s own adoptive son to put down his rebellion?”

“I do not like this,” Byleth muttered. “I do not like this at all.” Felix shot a questioning look at her, but just got a shake of the head in return. “I will be going as well,” she added. “I suppose I shall see you out there.”

They set off on the dreary march a few days before the end of the month. As they approached Gaspard, the weather only seemed to worsen, and they were on the Magdred Way when the intermittent rain turned to a dense, impenetrable mist.

With the fog thick around them, Felix shivered uncharacteristically. They were a long way south of home, still, and he was used to far worse weather, but there was something about the atmosphere on this road that sent a chill running through him.

Their small convoy of troops was near silent, occupied with the tread of their boots on the rough track, and keeping their faces pushed into hoods to shield themselves from moist air. The students had all been kept in this rear guard, and Felix chafed at the lack of action. All this marching, long days trudging through mud, for what? To perhaps cut down a few men who were foolish enough not to surrender to the knights? No, it was utterly pointless.

At the very least, though, it got him away from the monastery, and his alleged old friends. None of them had been assigned to this particular mission, and Felix was glad of the chance to get away from the surroundings he was quickly beginning to find suffocating. The monotony of life at Garreg Mach was something he had anticipated, but which still rankled. Having no real opportunity to escape beyond the small town, his days were filled with pointless tasks and the study of topics either already known to him or of no interest.

They were not far from the town of Gaspard now, though, so there would be tasks to be done this evening no matter what the outcome of the fight had been. Travelling at the rear was dull not just because of the lack of action, but because of the lack of knowledge. The knights would deal with all of the actual action of the rebellion, and Felix’s fingers itched on his sword hilt.

A call came from out of the fog, and Felix’s head whipped round.

“Ambush!” someone cried. “Troops in the woods!”

Felix swore under his breath, and drew his sword. This was not meant to happen. And though he had wished moments ago for action, this was not what he had had in mind. They were exposed here, on the road, with no cover, surrounded by better-protected areas. In the fog, too, the attackers had the advantage of knowing the territory, while the rest of them would have to stumble around half-blind. The sound of whistling arrow-fire met him as he searched the shadowy tree-line. Seeing an arrow thud into the ground not far in front of him, he pushed his way past a row of carts. They had trundled to a too-quick stop, making deep furrows in the muddy road.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered briskly to the men driving the wagons nearest him, then called to a knight he could see a few dozen feet further up the road. “I’ll cut into the woods from here!” The knight nodded back, then ran towards the front of the convoy, where Catherine was commanding their party from.

Cautiously, Felix began to make his way towards the thicker wooded areas, trying to keep his steps quiet. He was soon in the cover of the trees, and the sounds of soldiers preparing for battle quickly grew more muffled as he moved away from them. He had begun to turn to move parallel to the road, hoping to hunt out the attackers, when pounding feet behind him drew his attention. Whirling round and readying his sword, he was relieved to find it was just Ashe.

“Quiet!” he hissed at him. “You’ll draw their attention.”

Ashe was pale, but he nodded quickly, and his steps slowed and became more careful. He carried a bow—old-fashioned, now but more than serviceable—and knocked an arrow in readiness as the two of them crept on together.

The only warning they got was the sound of a single snapping twig. Then a man was barrelling out of the trees towards them, brandishing an axe that was definitely intended for chopping firewood, not battle. Ashe loosed his arrow in an instant, and it thudded into his shoulder, drawing out a cry of pain. Felix was on him instantly, beating him backwards with a series of quick blows, until the man was pressed with his back against a tree, and Felix’s sword at his throat.

“Wait!” Ashe cried. “Don’t—don’t hurt him.”

Felix turned to look at him, keeping the man pinned, but Ashe’s attention was wholly on the other man.

“William?” he asked. “What are you _doing_ here!”

“Ashe,” the man gasped out.

“He brought the _townsfolk_ into this?” Ashe muttered to himself, frozen to the spot. Then he leaped into action, digging through the pack on his back until he found a length of rope. “Here, tie him up. I don’t want—I don’t want to kill him. If we can avoid it, I mean.”

Felix nodded briskly, and lowered his sword to let Ashe take the man’s axe and bind his hands.

“Ashe, no,” he said desperately. “Please, you should be on _our_ side—”

He was cut off. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this is _madness_!” Ashe cried. “I just need to talk to Lonato. He must see this is fruitless!”

William opened his mouth to reply, but Ashe cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Let’s move on,” he said to Felix.

Ashe was panting desperately as the two of them left the bound man behind them. “Are you—are you all right?” Felix asked him tentatively.

Drawing his shoulders up, Ashe seemed to do his best to pull a composed expression over his face. “Thank you, my lord. I will be quite all right.”

Felix made an impatient noise. “You don’t have to bother with all the titles. Are you able to continue?”

With a strained smile, Ashe nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to. Listen, I think I can hear something over that way.”

They picked their way through the forest. Ashe was surprisingly nimble now that he had got over his initial terror, and they moved near-silently. Behind them, they could make out the faint sounds of the travelling party’s horses, and the occasional shout of battle, muffled and strange through the fog. As they drew ahead of the entire caravan, the sounds from further ahead grew clearer. Eventually, they came to the edge of the forested area, near where the road broke out into open land. Felix reached out a hand to hold Ashe back.

“Be careful,” he said, after a moment of fumbling for the right words. “We’ll be out in the open now.”

Ashe nodded curtly, and together they crept out of the treeline. It was easier to make out the shapes of approaching figures now, but it left Felix feeling curiously exposed. Even though it would not be easy for anyone to make them out well enough to attack from a distance, he kept casting around for anyone making to attack them.

The loudest sounds were coming from a vague knot of figures that couldn’t be too far away, but were faint and muffled from the edge of the trees. As soon as they got close enough to make out more than dark shapes and shouts of anger, Ashe let out a broken gasp of a cry and came to a stop for a single, breathless moment. Then he ran forward, the arrow that had been drawn and ready to fly falling to the ground, his bowstring slack.

“Lonato!” he shouted. “Please, no!”

A line of men blocked the road, clad in heavy armour, and from behind them a grey-haired figure sat on a horse turned at Ashe’s shout. Several of the knights of Seiros were engaged with the front lines, and Felix spotted Byleth’s distinctive hair in the midst of the fray, even as Ashe began to attempt to wade through the carnage towards his adoptive father.

Felix caught Byleth’s eye from where she had just sent one of Lonato’s soldiers stumbling backwards with a sharp blow to the head from the pommel of her sword. She frowned briefly, then in a few strides was by his side.

“Catch up to Mr Ubert,” she said urgently. “Stop him from doing anything rash. I will do my best to dissuade Catherine, but I’m not sure how successful I will be.”

Felix scowled back at her. “I’m not here to _coddle_ people who—”

She slashed a hand through the air. “This is _not_ the time for argument. Go, now,” she said sharply.

And then she took off, running after a white-clad knight. Catherine was only a few paces from Lonato, fighting the two men who had been standing beside him as his closest guards. She neatly disposed of one as he watched, and turned on the other with a rapid series of blows.

Felix sprang into motion and rushed after Ashe, who was attempting to slip past the ongoing skirmishes to get closer to Lonato. He loosed an arrow with shaking fingers as someone attempted to charge towards him, lance raised. The man fell backwards, and Ashe darted past him. Felix cursed under his breath, and fended the soldier off from hitting Ashe in the back.

“Get back!” he shouted to Ashe as he rushed to catch up with him. Ashe shook off the grip on his shoulder, and tried to move forwards again. Felix caught him by the arm, and held him firmly in place.

“You will be of no assistance to him by barging into a mess like this,” he said sharply into Ashe’s ear.

Ashe went limp in his grasp, and froze for a moment. Then he nodded, and Felix cautiously released him.

“With me,” he said, and resumed battling his way forward. He was too busy fighting through Lonato’s guards to keep a close eye on what was happening behind the front line, but when he and Ashe finally got clear of the thick of things, he heard Ashe let out a strangled gasp.

Catherine stood in front of Lonato, sword drawn. Beside her, Byleth had one hand on her free arm, and seemed to be attempting to reason with Lonato. He just glared down at the two women, unmoved.

“Lord Lonato!” Ashe shouted, as they came close enough for him to hear over the sounds of the fighting just beginning to die down behind them.

Lonato turned, his lance still raised. “Ashe, there is no need for you to involve yourself in this!” he shouted. “Stand back!”

Ashe’s voice wavered. “Please, no! How could you do this? Drag people into this?”

“Rhea has deceived you all!” Lonato cried. “If you are on her side, I will strike you down myself.” His face was set in rage, and he levelled his lance.

“Enough!” Catherine said, and leaped towards Lonato. Ashe let out a broken cry, and started forwards. Felix grasped his arm, and Byleth stepped back towards them, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr Ubert,” she said. “There’s no need for you to see this. Please.”

Ashe shook his head violently. “I have to—I have to stop him.”

“You can’t,” she said seriously, then turned to Felix. “Lord Felix. If you would return to the main caravan and inform any attackers that you find that Lord Lonato has been defeated?”

Felix nodded, but Ashe interrupted. “He hasn’t been defeated yet! He doesn’t have to be—”

Byleth cut him off. “He will be soon,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle.

Felix left Ashe to her, and made his way back to the wagons. There was relatively little damage, all things considered, but he was quickly swept up in the business of taking prisoners, accepting the surrender of the remnants of Lonato’s forces, and clearing the road once again so they could proceed. When they began to progress again, and Felix finally made it back to where Lonato and his guards had been stationed, there was only damp, blood-stained mud left.

He could see Ashe, hunched over as he sat in the back of a wagon beside a shape covered by a tarpaulin. Grimly, Felix turned away, and followed the rest of the convoy as they continued towards Gaspard town.

“How is Mr Ubert?” Byleth asked when he fell into step beside her.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Good day, Miss Eisner.”

She waved an idle hand through the air. “I think formalities are of little use when a man’s father has just been killed in front of him.”

Felix gave a discontented snort. “That is true. And, as you might imagine, I believe he is not in the best of states.”

“You said before that you were surprised he was assigned to this mission,” she added.

“Many things about this mission have rather surprised me,” Felix replied, face twisting.

Byleth gave him a cautious look. “Indeed?”

He just made a quiet noise of assent, and they walked in silence for a while, until the group arrived at the walls of Gaspard town. As it came to a weary halt, and carts began to be unloaded, Byleth turned to him again.

“I must go and assist Catherine, but perhaps later you would spar with me?”

Felix looked at her askance. “What, not enough action yet today?” he asked.

She just inclined her head. “No, plenty. But still.”

Despite his puzzlement, Felix agreed. “I shall come find you after I have eaten, then.”

She smiled at him, and moved quickly off to join the group of knights gathering near the gates to the castle.

Felix wandered over to the beginnings of the makeshift camp being built in the shelter of the walls, and idly joined those starting fires and setting up tents. The routine work soothed his mind a little, but he kept turning over the events of the day in his mind. The knights had been so ready to slaughter everyone in their path, and the realisation that the men in front of him were ordinary townsfolk, farmers and traders, not the trained soldiers he had been expecting, still haunted him a little.

He turned the faces of the men over, thinking about the devastation in Ashe’s expression upon recognising one. Felix had a strong enough stomach for violence, but this was different. Something turned in his gullet at the thought of those men, not violent bandits like most of these Academy missions involved, but people persuaded into a fight they believed in. Uprisings were… well, they were not uncommon—he himself had been sent to put one down in Faerghus not all that many years ago—but the vehemence of Lonato’s hatred of the church surprised him. And beyond that, the violence of the church’s response made him feel sick.

Stumbling through the tedious preparations of the evening, he ate a bowl of watery stew that had been cooked over a campfire, then began to search for Byleth. He found her more easily than he had expected. She was crouched beside the fire pit in front of the largest tent, which seemed to be functioning as a command centre, and despite the noise all around them she looked up as he approached. He bowed briefly to her, and she inclined her head, then went back to poking at the fire with a stick.

“Spar with me,” Felix said brusquely, then winced internally.

Byleth stood up and dusted off her hands, shooting him the faintest hint of a mocking smile. “Good evening, my lord,” she said. “Apparently it is my turn to reproach you for neglecting social niceties.”

Felix rolled his eyes at her, and turned away. “If you still want to spar, I found a place.”

He set off towards the edge of the camp, resolutely not looking back to check if she was coming too. But he was pleased to hear first her weary sigh, and then the crack of a twig underfoot as she followed him. The forest bordered the town on one side, and he led her to a clearing a short distance into the trees, where the light of the camp’s fires still reached but the sounds were muted.

She looked around, intrigued. “You have a good eye for sparring grounds,” she said.

Felix snorted. “Years of practise,” he said, as he freed his sword from its sheath at his waist. “Come on, then.”

Byleth looked amused, but drew her sword anyway and waited for him to strike. He obliged, feinting to her right, then round to swipe at her legs. She avoided nimbly, and they fell into the back-and-forth dance of it all.

“We found something concerning on Lord Lonato’s body,” Byleth said suddenly, after several quiet minutes where the clearing was filled only with the sounds of metal on metal, and their pants of exertion.

“Something concerning?” Felix asked, curious.

“A note. About a plan to assassinate the archbishop,” she said flatly.

He frowned. “That seems… very convenient.”

A small smile crept onto her face. “That was my thought, too. It is meant to happen at the Rite of Rebirth, as well. Why pick such a time, when there will be guards everywhere, for such an attempt?”

Felix raised an eyebrow and lunged at her, but she deflected it with a flick. “You think it a distraction?” he said.

She sighed. “Perhaps. I don’t like it in the least.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things I do not like about this whole situation here. Do you know what the archbishop said to me when she told me about this mission?”

Felix shook his head as he parried her next thrust.

“She said that this would demonstrate to the students the futility of defying the church,” Byleth said grimly.

Her next blow almost hit him, and Felix had to take several steps back in surprise. “What?” he said. “She thinks that the senseless slaughter of farmers is the way to maintain the strength of the church?” His face twisted.

Byleth took advantage of his distraction, and pressed him back against a bush filled with sharp thorns. Felix scowled, and did his best to fend her off, but she pushed him back relentlessly until he was pressed into the bush, branches digging into his back, and Byleth’s sword at his throat.

“There are few things I dislike more,” he said in a low voice, “Than violence with no sense, and no just cause.”

Byleth looked at him, her face as impassive as usual, then dropped her sword to her side, and stepped back. “I confess that is not something I expected from you. You are so… _dedicated_ to your training, I did not think you would be squeamish about bloodshed.”

Anger passed over Felix’s face. “I am not _squeamish_ ,” he said curtly. “There is a vast difference between fighting to defend yourself and others, and _senseless violence for the sake of it_. I will _never_ revel in the violence I cause.”

Byleth’s eyebrows lifted just slightly. “I take it this is a sore point for you, then.”

His face twisted further. “Go to hell,” he spat. “We’re done here.” He sheathed his sword, and began to walk back towards the camp, but her hand caught his arm.

She said nothing for a moment, just stared at his face as he turned to look back at her, startled out of his glare. “Walk with me a little, first?” she said. “I did not mean to offend you, my lord.”

Felix scowled again. “I told you, you don’t need to bother with that,” he grumbled, shrugging her hand off. But he sighed, and diverted his path to continue round the edge of the camp rather than back into its centre, not protesting when she fell into step beside him.

“We think the same thing, I believe,” Byleth said. “I was…” she trailed off, and sighed. “From the way the archbishop spoke of this rebellion, I was expecting at the very least a small militia. Not people fighting with their damned pitchforks.”

“Mr Ubert recognised some of them,” Felix said quietly. “Most of them were just townspeople.”

“Precisely,” she replied, then lapsed into grim silence. “The more I learn about the church,” she continued after a moment, “The more dissatisfied I become.”

Felix shot her a quizzical look. “The more you learn about it?”

She hummed. “Yes. I was brought up away from it, you know. And now I have rather been plunged into its heart.”

“You mentioned once before that you did not know much about it, but I thought you must have been exaggerating.”

Byleth shook her head. “My father did his best to keep me away from the church’s influence.”

“And yet they were willing to give you a position among the Knights?” Felix said in frustration. “Forgive me if I do not quite believe that you are so detached from them.”

She frowned at him. “I am not lying to you,” she said, a hint of sharpness entering her voice. “I swear to you, I am as baffled by it all as you. Lady Rhea seems to favour me, but I do not understand why in the slightest.”

Felix scowled at her. “If you insist,” he said.

“Truly,” she said. “I would not wish the archbishop to hear it, but I am not even a believer in the goddess. I had never even entered a church before this year.”

He snorted. “That is certainly not something I can see the archbishop tolerating,” he said, angered. He had grown used to her brushing aside his questions, but he had not expected her to attempt to pacify him with things that were blatantly untrue. “If you do not wish to tell me the truth, I will take my leave. Good night, Miss Eisner.”

He lifted his hat, turning away before she could catch his arm again. She called after him, but only once, and he hurried back to the warmth of the fires.

The days after they returned from Gaspard passed slowly. Felix was never the most sociable of people, but even he had been pressed into attempting to cheer Ashe out of his dark mood. Sprightly Annette, so chirpy and bright, led the charge, but he found it hard to muster much enthusiasm for bullying someone out of their grief. His mind turned to the dark mood he had sunk into after Glenn’s death, of how every friendly gesture had been like a needle, and left Ashe to his own devices.

Besides, Felix had plenty to think about himself after the last month. Byleth’s words, and the viciousness he had witnessed, had stirred something uncomfortable into him. Even his usual respite, training until his muscles were so tired he could no longer think, had lost some of its sweetness. He still had his ambitions, of course—his drive to grow stronger had not lessened in the slightest—but now, it seemed to come with new doubts.

“We spoke before of your history as a mercenary, Miss Eisner. Would you be willing to answer some questions I had about it?” he asked after they finished sparring one day. Their matches had been tense of late, and though Felix still found it hard to believe her claims and did not regret telling her so, he found he missed the ease of her company as they fought.

“I suppose,” she said neutrally.

“How did you find that way of life?”

Her face stayed blank. “I suppose I never thought much of it,” she said. “It was all I’d ever known.”

Felix threw her a frustrated look. “What of the contracts? How did your group choose them?”

Byleth just shrugged back at him. “My father dealt with that side of things,” she said.

He sighed heavily, and reluctantly let the subject drop.

Despite the uneasy atmosphere between them, sparring with Byleth became one of his few escapes from his thoughts as the weeks went by. He was not the most introspective of people, but he found attempting to notch a win against her was one of the few pursuits challenging enough to really occupy him, and distract him from his thoughts. She still beat him every time, but he could feel himself getting closer, learning to predict her swings despite her impassive face. One day, he would be able to win, and then—

Well, he did not know. She was still a mystery to him, in any case. Moreover, he began to regret the harshness of some of his words to her. On consideration, the Dagdan mercenary who held a position among the Knights was hardly likely to be a devout believer in the goddess, so perhaps it was not a disqualifying factor. However, Byleth’s purported lack of faith in the church had not seemed to reduce their inclination to favour her, and that still troubled him. The extent of that trust, from Lady Rhea at least, was well demonstrated to him as the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth approached. Rumours about the plot against the archbishop abounded, and Felix knew better than to trust most of them, but they were not all baseless.

“Is it true that you have been asked to take charge of the defence of the rest of the monastery during the Rite?” he asked Byleth, a few days before it arrived.

She nodded. “The rest of the knights are all going to be busy guarding Lady Rhea herself.”

“And you still suspect she is not the real target?”

“Indeed.” She sighed. “I had been meaning to speak to you, in point of fact. I am recruiting students to assist with guard duty on the night itself. You are more than competent, so would you assist?”

“Of course,” he said in surprise. “Though I am somewhat surprised the archbishop is entrusting this to students.”

Her face turned grim. “The archbishop seems willing to entrust a lot to students,” she said, and gave him a sideways look. “I did not tell you what she said about Lord Lonato after we returned, did I? She told me that his death would be a _valuable lesson_.”

Felix felt his face twist, but held back the sharp words that surged in his throat like venomous bile. There was nothing to be gained by insulting the church’s highest official.

Byleth was watching him carefully, so he just shook his head at her, and she nodded slowly in response. “My thoughts exactly,” she said tersely, and turned back to tidying the rack of practice weapons.

On the day of the Rite of Rebirth, Felix was startled to find that Byleth seemed to have recruited the majority of the academy’s students for her efforts to guard the monastery. She ordered them to positions around the monastery, face tense and words curt. Felix found himself standing idly on the bridge to the cathedral, with strict instructions to keep an eye on both sides, and come running at once if he saw anything that looked suspicious. He could see a couple of archers on the roof of the main building, and more people positioned outside the huge doors of the cathedral, but he was alone here in the quiet.

Far off, he could hear the hymns being sung at the base of the Goddess tower, before they too faded into silence. Lady Rhea and Lord Seteth would have secluded themselves for the vigil now, and the Knights of Seiros would have closed ranks around the tower. Felix still found it hard to believe that any self-respecting assassin would pick such an occasion for an attempt, but as he gazed down into the chasm beneath the bridge he kept his ears open.

Nothing. The night was still, and he stood there for hours, growing increasingly restless. The moon rose, and he took to pacing up and down the full length of the marketplace, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the hilt of his sword. When the dawn came, he trudged wearily to bed, and slept badly. He emerged a few hours later to a monastery in quiet, frantic turmoil.

Nobody seemed to really know what had actually happened, aside from that some unknown people had, despite all the precautions, made their way into the Holy Mausoleum. Only a few people had actually been down there, and they were apparently not speaking of what had actually happened. 

Felix watched Sylvain attempt to flirt the answers out of Byleth for a good hour in the training grounds that afternoon, and felt a strange, hot irritation prickle under his skin the whole while. Eventually, he couldn’t stand it any longer, and interrupted his friend’s increasingly pathetic requests for information with a sharp jab to his back with a wooden training sword.

“You said you would spar with me today. Well?” he said brusquely.

Sylvain yelped, then laughed. “All right, all right. If the lovely Miss Eisner can spare me,” he said, flourishing a bow to her.

She raised one eyebrow, and waved a hand dismissively. Sylvain turned and scowled at Felix, before going over to the weapons rack.

Felix leaned in towards Byleth. “Tonight,” he said. “Will you spar with me?”

She looked surprised, then resigned. “Not tonight, my lord,” she said, a hint of irritation in her voice.

He scowled. “I am not going to interrogate you like my _dear friend_ over there was attempting to do. I merely wish to spar.”

Byleth looked at him, her clear gaze going right through him. “Fine,” she said, and gave him a short half-bow. “Until later, then.”

She strode away, towards the exit to the training grounds, and Felix watched her go until Sylvain came up behind him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to send a friend away just to keep a lady all to yourself?” he asked.

Felix glared at him. “And for that, I will not pull any of my blows today.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “When have you ever pulled your blows,” he said.

When Felix made his way to the Knight’s Hall after dinner, he found Byleth waiting for him. She was hacking furiously at a straw dummy, and turned to him with her sword raised without saying a word. Then, she proceeded to beat him soundly in three matches—quietly, quickly, and with terrifying intensity.

Felix got slowly to his feet after he went flying to the ground for the third time, panting hard, and caught his breath. Byleth’s face was cautiously assessing as they both stood there in silence.

“Can I trust you?” she asked suddenly.

“What?” Felix said, startled. “I mean, excuse me?”

Her face, solemn at the best of times, was intent. Something burned deep in her eyes. “If I were to show you something, would you swear to keep it secret?”

Felix suppressed the automatic urge to scoff, the weight of her gaze forcing him to think. Could he? What was it she knew? “Might I ask a question first?”

She gave a sharp nod, eyes still cautious.

“Why must this be so secret, whatever it is? What do you intend to do with it?”

Byleth sighed, but he thought he caught a note of approval hidden in it. The right questions, then. “To be entirely frank, I don’t entirely know what I will do. However,” she caught Felix’s look of irritation, “ _However_ , I will tell you this. It must remain a secret for two reasons: firstly, because I was told to keep it so. And secondly, I cannot be entirely open because I do _not_ trust what the church is doing. I am unsure of their goals, and entirely uncertain of their methods. There is more to _everything_ than either of us knows, of that much I am sure.”

Felix nodded. “I… agree. I suppose.” He glanced around, but they were still alone. Trusting did not come easily, but Byleth certainly seemed to have goals he could share in, and suspicions he already did. If he wanted to know anything more, he would probably need her knowledge. “I will keep your secret.”

She exhaled slowly. “Thank you. I need to show you something for what I have to tell you to have its full effect, I believe. Come with me.” She turned, and began to walk through the gardens towards the knights’ quarters.

He followed cautiously. He had entered the large building that contained living spaces for various church officials, instructors and knights a few times before, to carry messages or fetch items, but he wasn’t sure what it was Byleth would want to show him there. There were few people around at this time of night, most having already retired, and they only met one squire hurrying in the opposite direction as they walked through the corridors. Byleth stopped them abruptly outside a door, the echoing of her boots on the stone floor still ringing around them. She looked over him once more, something still assessing him in her eyes, then took in a slow breath and ushered him into a small room.

“Welcome,” she said, shutting the door behind them.

Felix glanced around, and found himself in a room with a small sitting area in front of the fireplace, two comfortable armchairs and a low table between them. There was a desk piled with papers against one wall, and various shelves of books and assorted weaponry, but the room was otherwise fairly bare.

“Would you care for some tea?” she asked, pulling a small kettle turned black with soot off a hook above the fire.

“Thank you,” he replied hesitantly. Sylvain would laugh at him for even considering it, but he supposed a sitting room, even alone at night with a woman, was not too improper a place to be. At any rate, Byleth certainly seemed at ease enough with his presence. He moved over to a large set of shelves and examined the array of sword oils set there, neatly lined up in their small bottles. Deciphering her scrawled handwriting, some of them seemed to contain oils he’d never even heard of, of all kinds of colours. He picked up one whose brownish hue glowed red in the low light of the fire and Byleth’s lamps. The first word on the label seemed to be Morfis, but the others were indecipherable.

“Morfis acacia oil,” a voice behind his shoulder said softly. Felix turned abruptly to find Byleth at his shoulder, eyes fixed on the small bottle he held.

He put it down abruptly. “My apologies. I was just curious. What gives it that red colour?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I bought it as an experiment, but it wasn’t a particularly interesting one. I sometimes try treating my swords with unusual oils I come across.” The bottle did indeed seem to be mostly full, where many others were nearing empty.

“Do you do that often?” he asked. “Experiment, I mean.”

“A little. I find it interesting, I suppose, how blades react with different treatments. Often there’s little difference, but sometimes something surprises you.”

Felix found himself humming lightly in agreement, as ran a finger again over the rows of bottles. He felt the warm presence at his shoulder disappear, and felt an unexpected pang of disappointment as he turned to see Byleth had moved away to prepare a teapot and cups.

“Any preferences?” she asked.

“Oh, whatever you have is perfectly all right,” he replied, forcing himself into unnatural politeness. Byleth gave him a strange look, though, so he continued. “I prefer… things that are less sweet.”

Her eyes crinkled slightly in response. “I believe I can manage that,” she said softly.

Felix felt himself warm unexpectedly at her half-smile, and quickly turned away as the kettle on the fire began to sing. Once the tea was made, Byleth ushered him into one of the chairs with his cup, and then disappeared through a door that he presumed must lead to her bedchamber. The china was more delicate than he would have expected someone as practical as her to own, but its twisting design of small blue flowers suited her, somehow. He shook himself. Dear goddess, what was wrong with him tonight? He should not be so at ease with delicate china and the forced politeness that came with it, but there was something restful about Byleth’s small fireplace and striped armchairs, and her shelves filled with an odd but characteristic assortment of things.

He looked up again as the door opened and shut again, and Byleth returned with a long object wrapped in rough canvas cloth. “Is that what you wanted to show me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, and she propped it up next to the fire as she sat down opposite him. “I should explain where it came from first, though.”

Felix remained quiet, but looked at her expectantly as she picked up her cup and saucer and fidgeted with them. “You know how I said I suspected the plot against Lady Rhea was just a distraction for something else?” He nodded. “Well, it rather seems I was right.”

She sighed, and set her cup on the low table between them. “It can’t have escaped you that people got into the Mausoleum despite us. I still don’t know how, but perhaps if they came in disguised, or if they had some other way in…” She trailed off, then shook her head as if to clear it. “When I reached the mausoleum, they seemed to be attempting to open the casket of Saint Seiros.” Felix’s jaw fell open in shock, before he recovered himself.

He got another half-smile from Byleth for that. “Yes, I know. Well, there weren’t many of us, but they had a relatively small force too. There was this knight—very dramatically dressed in black armour, but—I am sorry, that wasn’t the point. We fought our way up to the casket just as they were getting it open. There was no body inside. There was only—”

Byleth let out a shuddering breath. “What do you know about relics?” she asked quietly.

Felix frowned at the topic change, but answered obligingly. “I have seen my family’s, and a few others. They are said to be ancient and powerful weapons, given by the goddess, but they are mostly locked in castle armories these days. Nobody is meant to be able to wield them any more, though I can’t say I really know why.”

Byleth’s laugh was dryer than the desert. “Nobody is meant to any more, no,” she said, then reached over to pick up her cloth-wrapped bundle. As she began to remove the layers of canvas, she continued, “The casket did not seem to contain the body of Saint Seiros. Instead, there was this.”

She set the long object on the table, and lifted away the last layer to reveal the strangest sword Felix had ever seen. “A relic?” he asked in surprise, for indeed it did bear a faint resemblance to what he’d seen of them before. It was the same odd faded orange colour, and was strangely and intricately carved. The handle seemed like it would be too large to hold at all comfortably, and the crossguard was immense and far too weighty for comfort, despite the strange hole in the middle of it. The blade was segmented, like the spine of some animal laid out on this otherwise banal table. Felix suppressed a shiver.

Byleth’s voice was cold and expressionless when she spoke again. “One of the men took it out, but I knocked it out of his hand and took it. I was examining it, and the next thing I knew there was – I don’t know how to describe it. It was like a cloud of smoke billowing towards me, but it seemed so thick, and they couldn’t have had time to light anything. And for some reason I just swung the sword on instinct, and it…” her voice tailed off, then she took a deep breath and reached her hand out towards the sword. “It did this,” she finished, and picked it up.

The sword seemed to spring into her hand as soon as she touched it, and immediately lit up a glowing, unearthly orange. Felix barely stopped himself dropping his half-finished cup of tea. He looked up to Byleth’s face, and found it as blank as ever, her eyes fastened to the sword with their usual purplish hue looking almost black in its orange light.

“How did you do that?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she said, and for a moment he could see beyond the blank veil she kept drawn over her eyes, to some simmering pool of shock and desperation underneath.

He kept his eyes fixed on her, and murmured, “Put it down.”

She didn’t respond, still staring at the strange carvings of the blade. “Byleth,” he said again, and she turned to look at him. “Put it down,” he said, as gently as he could manage.

She kept her eyes fixed on his, and set the sword down on the table without even looking back at it. Felix felt some of the tension he hadn’t noticed he was holding in his core relax a little, and Byleth’s shoulders dropped as she let go of the sword and the glow abruptly dissipated.

Felix ran his hand over his hair, and struggled to calm his breathing. “Does it only do this for you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Byleth replied. “But it didn’t light up for the man who took it out of the casket.”

He nodded slowly. “Why was it in the casket at all? And why didn’t it get put back there?”

“I have no idea. And the Archbishop… Lady Rhea told me to keep it.”

“What?” he exclaimed.

She gave him a wry smile, barely more than a slight twist of the lips. “I know. She told me that I should not tell anyone, but that it lit up for me was a sign that I had been chosen by the goddess.” She laughed, but it was hollow. “I’d never even been to a church service before I came here. I don’t know if I even _believe_ in the goddess. And then she said that she had always expected great things of me.”

“Did she not just meet you a few months ago?” Felix asked.

Byleth nodded. “She was… so interested in me. Did you know she wanted to offer me a position as a professor? Me, a twenty-year-old mercenary, meant to lecture nobles my own age on matters I know nothing about. Fortunately, Seteth made that point to her, but she still insisted on my joining the Knights.”

“Do you not like it here?” Felix enquired.

“No, no,” she sighed. “I like it more than I expected to, really. It’s not all that different from mercenary life, except that we move around much less. And – well. I like the people, too, for the most part.” She gave him a tired smile. “I just don’t understand what she wants from me. I don’t like that at all.”

“Nor do I,” he agreed. He sat back in his chair to think for a moment. “You want to find out what is happening, I presume?”

“Of course,” she said immediately.

He sighed. “So do I.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “Some investigation into relics and how they function might be of use? That might at least aid in working out why you are able to use it.”

Byleth nodded. “I thought of that, but I wasn’t sure where I would even start.”

“I might have a look through the library, if you wished,” he said cautiously. “I will confess, that is not my strong suit, but I could enlist some help in my researches.”

Byleth frowned. “I was told not to make others aware I possess the sword. I do not mind going against her, but I would not want her to hear of it.”

“Of course,” he hastened to say. “However, I could claim the research was for my own benefit? Pretend an interest in my family’s relic, perhaps.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes… yes, that sounds plausible.” She sighed heavily. “Thank you.”

He shook his head firmly. “No thanks are necessary. I am glad to be of use.”

They lapsed back into silence, and Felix studied the sword on the table again. The material looked the same as other relics he had seen, but he could not place what it even could be. The colour, even when not glowing in Byleth’s hand, was unlike anything else.

“Is it just my imagination,” he ventured, “Or does it look almost like… like a spine?”

Byleth nodded sombrely. “I thought that, too.” They stared down at the sword lying between them, and Felix felt a shiver run through him.

He shook it off. “Thank you for showing me,” he added.

She gave him a searching look, then inclined her head. “I… do not know what to do with any of this. I don’t know who I could ask, or what I should do even if I find anything out.”

“You have not told anyone else?”

“No. I do not know who I can trust.” She shifted forwards to start wrapping the cloth round the sword once again. “Please do not betray the trust I have placed in you,” she said quietly, her head still bent over the table.

On instinct, Felix reached out a hand, and rested it on her arm for a moment, shocked by his own boldness. “Of course I will not.”

She nodded once, then picked up her bundle, and disappeared through the door to return it to wherever she had been keeping it. Felix stared at his teacup again, and finished the last of the tea. It had gone cold.

Byleth slipped back into the room, shutting the door behind her, and stood in front of it, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Felix found himself smiling up at her, attempting to soothe her anxious expression, and was relieved when she smiled gently back at him. Then he sighed, and set his cup on the table. “I should take my leave,” he said, standing up.

“Oh! Of course, I did not intend to keep you up,” Byleth said.

“You aren’t,” he replied, forcing the smile off his face and returning himself to his usual gruffness. “Thank you for the tea.”

She opened the door for him, returning his farewells quietly. Felix made his way down the corridor towards the rest of the monastery. He paused at the corner briefly, glanced back, and saw her standing in her doorway still, staring after him. Their eyes met for a moment. Then she nodded briskly, and was gone.

Felix had not believed in magic since he was a child. He still did not, he told himself on his walk back across the monastery to the dormitories. But he did not know what could cause an object to glow in that way. He suppressed the fleeting thought that perhaps this was some trick of Byleth’s – that with some ingenious device she had been able to cause it to do that. He had heard of attempts to use electrical power for lighting, so perhaps it would be possible. But Byleth, though he felt sometimes he hardly knew her, did not strike him as the type for such an elaborate ruse. No, he was forced to conclude, she must be telling the truth—about this at least.

There was a difference between believing someone and trusting them, however. Felix was still not sure he could quite manage the second part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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